Lapse of Judgement
by musicaesmivivo
Summary: A crazy night at the Three Broomsticks has unanticipated consequences. Can a Slytherin and a Gryffindor get over their differences to accept what's going on between them? Rated M for language and possible future content.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: I AM SO SORRY. I am a horrible, horrible person. I started this story ages ago and then STOPPED WRITING IT for an incredibly long list of reasons (read: excuses). To make it up to you all, I am finally finishing this whole thing. So now I've edited and updated what I had already written, and then wrote some more. I hope you all like it. Please forgive me! Anyway, I'll stop wasting your time up here and let you read the damn thing . First part's short-ish, but they get longer (I promise).

Harry Potter does not belong to me, but you knew that already.

"Name?"

"Elisabetta Zabini," I replied lazily, carelessly flicking my hair out of my face.

"Ok, Miss Zabini, your forms are in order. You can wait over there with the other students until it's time to leave." I nodded to Professor Sprout, today's Hogsmeade chaperone, and walked over to a cluster of fellow Slytherins. I could feel eyes on me as I moved, my brown hair perfectly tousled and body built like a model's. I smirked to myself and made the sway of my hips just a little more pronounced. My blue eyes were alight with inner laughter by the time I reached my Housemates.

"Elisabetta," a male voice called, and I half-turned to greet my elder brother Blaise. We were only one year apart; Blaise was a sixth year and I was a fifth year.

"Si?" My brother started to speak to me in rapid Italian, something about Mum sending a package, but I was distracted by the giggling behind me. Some second years were obviously flustered by being in the presence of the Zabini siblings, and Blaise speaking our first language was not helping the stirring of little British hearts. Stifling the urge to roll my eyes, I nodded my head to Blaise and waited for him to finish, pretending I had been listening the whole time. When he was finally quiet, I turned to Draco Malfoy who had arrived halfway through our "conversation."

"Hello, Malfoy," I greeted him.

"Zabini," he replied, dipping his head infinitesimally and smiling slightly.

"All students going to Hogsmeade!" the voice of Professor Sprout called out. "We'll be leaving now! Keep close together, we don't want any of you wandering off on your own!"

"We should probably go," Malfoy said, eyeing the moving mass of people.

"You're right. Ciao," I said, waving, before turning to catch up with the other Slytherins in front of us.

"She never listens to me!" I heard my brother complain to Malfoy as I walked away. I heard Malfoy let out a breath of air in a laugh and I smirked in response, before picking up my pace to a jog.

-Blaise's POV-

"You better keep an eye on her," Malfoy said to me after watching Elisabetta run off.

"What? Why?" I turned to my best friend.

"Blaise. Please." The affectionate contempt in his eyes said, _isn't it obvious?_ "Your sister is bloody gorgeous."

"And she's my sister, Malfoy," I replied, my voice lowering dangerously.

"Christ, Zabini, chill out! What I'm trying to say is that…well…" he trailed off as he tried to phrase his thoughts diplomatically.

"Spit it out, Draco!"

"Well, whatever I won't do, someone else will," he finished, looking me in the eyes. I looked away.

"Yeah," I said.

"You know, if you weren't my friend and she wasn't your sister…"

"Enough, Draco." He let out a quick, staccato breath and looked away before turning to me once again.

"You're not going to be able to protect her forever, Blaise. Just make sure she doesn't do anything stupid. And I say this as your friend."

"Yeah," I murmured, half-heartedly punching Draco in the shoulder. "I know."


	2. Chapter 2

Not much action in this chapter, but it's coming, I promise. Once again, HP isn't mine.

-Elisabetta's POV-

I made sure to separate myself from the group of Slytherins as soon as we made it into Hogsmeade. The place was bloody crowded so it was both easy to do and a plausible outcome. Sure, they were my Housemates and all, but most of my good friends had decided not to come today and so the people I walked down with were those I rarely talked to. I recognized a boy from Astrology and a few others from Potions, but they were all too excited about the fact that Honeyduke's was having a sale on fudge to have any interesting discussions. As soon as Jack Donovan mentioned (to the squeals of the other girls – honestly, you'd think they were in Hufflepuff!) that he was treating his girlfriend to a romantic evening at Madam Puddifoot's, I determined to give them the slip.

I made sure to weave around to effectively lose myself and then made right for a nearby deserted alley. I had spent plenty of time during all the Hogsmeade trips over the years to acquaint myself with the town, and I knew my way around pretty well. This particular alley connected to the street that housed Gladrag's Wizardwear – as well as other stores that sold beautiful, if expensive, clothes and robes – and I walked inside to spend some time, if not some money.

-Seamus's POV-

Bugger. I was bloody lost. I wasn't paying attention, looked away from Dean for just one second, and suddenly I was alone in the masses in the middle of Hogsmeade. I had no idea how to get around this place. Sighing quietly, I stopped struggling to find the other Gryffindors I came with and just let the crowd move me. Eventually, I was pushed out into a little alley that seemed to connect to another, less crowded street. As my only choice was to follow the alley or throw myself back into the sea of people, I started to walk towards the far street.

Exiting the alley, I caught movement out of the corner of my eye. There, walking into a dress shop, was Elisabetta Zabini. I stared at the shop, wishing she were standing in front of me but glad that she hadn't seen me before entering. I sighed. She was by far the most beautiful girl in all of Hogwarts. Big blue eyes, dark brown hair, she carried herself like a model. She knew exactly how to move to get every boy's attention, and she knew it.

_You're an idiot, Finnigan._ Not only was the girl Blaise Zabini's sister, she was only a fifth year and she was a Slytherin! I shook my head and in the process saw the identifiable roof of the Three Broomsticks. _Perfect._ I figured I'd go into the pub, get me a few butterbeers and try to forget the fact that I had a stupid crush on hottest girl in school.

-Elisabetta's POV-

I kept my eyes straight in front of me until I entered the shop. I nodded at the shopkeeper and made for a rack of scarves near the front window. _I was right_. There stood Seamus Finnigan, sixth year Gryffindor, less than a block away. He was standing awkwardly in the middle of the street, staring at the shop I was currently occupying, and the sight of it made me smile slightly. I fiddled mindlessly with a green cashmere scarf as I watched him look away and then turn and walk in the direction of his earlier glance. I pressed myself to the window to see the chimney of the Three Broomsticks. _Ah._ Turning from the window, for there was nothing else to see, I wound my way deeper into the shop. I was too distracted to really enjoy shopping, but I needed time to think about my reaction to seeing Finnigan. An idea was taking shape in my head that made me smirk and shiver at the same time.

Blaise, though I loved him, was incredibly overprotective. I didn't blame him for it, in fact I expected it and even took it as a bit of a compliment, but in the end having him around sometimes made it difficult to enjoy myself. (Blaise would say "go wild and crazy," but he loved to exaggerate.) I still managed, of course, but the intimacy of Hogwarts meant it was virtually impossible to keep a secret. There was the occasional boyfriend, though most of the boys at school annoyed me more than anything else. The longest I ever kept a physical relationship secret was three weeks, until we slipped up and decided to go at it in a broom closet two doors down from McGonagall's Transfiguration class.

Seamus Finnigan might be a Gryffindor, which slightly detracted from his appeal, but he was gorgeous. And I loved his accent. I once heard him telling a story at dinner and was so enthralled that I didn't even register that Pansy Parkinson was trying to tell me her successes with Malfoy the night before. Not that I ever wanted to hear about that. The Irish lilt was beautiful, the most musical of all the English dialects I had ever heard. It kind of reminded me of Italian in the way that each syllable struck a note in the conversation.

Pulling myself back to reality, I realized two things. One: I had unconsciously maneuvered myself in front of a shelf of shoes. Two: it was surprisingly dark outside. I quickly looked at the clock sitting near the cash register. _It's 5:00 already? How long have I been here?_ I went over the details of my devious plan in my head and then left the store. The street was just as empty in twilight as it had been in daylight, and I picked up my pace. A shiver contorted my spine briefly as I stuffed my hands in my pockets and made my way towards the building in which I hoped I would find a certain Irish sixth year.


	3. Chapter 3

Alright, folks, here's where the rating comes into play! Hope you enjoy.

-Seamus's POV-

The grains of wood of the bar were magnified and dyed amber when I looked through the bottom of the glass. I was sitting on a stool at the far end, nursing the remains of my second bottle of butterbeer. Dean, Harry and the others were bound to wander in to the Three Broomsticks eventually, so I kept an ear open for the sounds of my friends' voices and an eye on the lovely figure of Madam Rosmerta behind the bar. Ron was always talking about how pretty she was…when he wasn't turning bright red from being within five feet of her.

I smiled slightly, shaking my head. If the lads weren't at the Three Broomsticks (Hermione was probably buying another quill or something else related to schoolwork), then they could be at Honeyduke's checking out the fudge but I was willing to bet that they had probably gone to Zonko's Joke Shop. I downed the last of my butterbeer and set the glass on the counter when I felt someone slip into the stool next to me.

"Leaving already?" A voice purred in my ear. I nearly choked in surprise, suddenly thankful that I had already swallowed all the liquid in my mouth. I had just spent the past hour trying to stop thinking about her – in lacy lingerie or starkers, in the Room of Requirement, in the prefects' bathroom, in Greenhouse 3, in a broom closet, underneath a table in the potions room, _for fuck's sake, Finnigan! Get a hold of yourself!_ – and here she was, sitting next to me, initiating a conversation with someone in a different year, in a rival house…

"Zabini," I said, turning to face her. Be _casual, be calm, be cool._ "To what do I owe the pleasure?" She crooked an eyebrow.

"I noticed you in the street, earlier, Finnigan," she said. _She…was I that obvious?_ She smirked, and I abruptly cut off my train of thought. "Can't a girl get some company?" she simpered, eyes flashing. "Madam Rosmerta! Some firewhiskey for my friend and I, if you would." The owner of the inn pursed her lips and raised her eyebrows, but made no other comment as she placed two glasses in front of us and poured the alcohol in. Elisabetta thanked the bar tender and raised her glass to me expectantly. "To getting lost in Hogsmeade," she said. I laughed and lifted my own glass.

"Cheers to that," I said, and clinking our glasses together and then downing the contents. The whiskey burned going down, and my drinking partner cleared her throat a bit as she set the glass back on the bar. "Nothing like a little firewhiskey to warm up a chilly autumn night," I declared, taking the bottle from the counter where Rosmerta had left it and refilling our cups. This time, I raised my hand in a toast. "To two schoolmates getting to know each other." She smiled and touched her glass to mine.

After a third toast, she reached into a money pouch and tossed out a few coins to cover the cost of the firewhiskey. Then, she got up, grabbed my wrist in one hand and the bottle in the other, and started to pull me towards an empty booth in the back corner of the pub. I grabbed our glasses with my free hand and followed her, plopping down across the table from her. She couldn't have picked a better table: we were obscured by both the crowds and the shadow, and I couldn't see any Hogwarts students who would notice something strange if they saw the two of us in a booth together. If I had been sober, I probably would have lingered on the laundry list of reasons why this shouldn't be happening – she's too pretty, she's younger than me, she's a Slytherin, she's Blaise's sister, she's friends with Malfoy, we'd never spoken before, she's in Slytherin, for chrissake! – but at this point I couldn't care less. I was even sufficiently relaxed enough to be charming and not stick my foot in my mouth or be awkward, for which I was immensely grateful.

Elisabetta was laughing, a genuine laugh that I hadn't seen from her before, and I caught myself staring. The alcohol had brought a flush to her cheeks and her hair was curling gently as it reached past her shoulders. We had both loosened our school ties and at some point she had unbuttoned the top few buttons of her shirt until I could see a hint of cleavage. She leaned forward across the table, and the hint of cleavage became a whole lot more as I caught a flash of black lace. I swallowed.

"What's your favorite dessert?" she asked. Our second bottle of firewhiskey was past the halfway point and I had long ago stopped paying attention to the rest of the crowded room. As far as I was concerned, the place was completely empty except for this one booth. I took another gulp from my glass. It didn't even burn anymore.

"Custard tart. Yours?"

"I like Hogwarts' treacle tart. But back home I love tiramisu."

"Tiramisu, eh? I can't say I've ever had that."

"It's divine. Espresso and cream and…sponge cake? I think that's what it's called in English." Her accent was making it very difficult to focus on the words she was saying, rather than simply the sound of her voice. I found myself watching her lips move as she talked, and the way her throat worked to finish her glass. I took the bottle of firewhiskey and topped us both off.

"What country have you always wanted to visit?" She lowered her eyelids and looked up at me from beneath her lashes, and I could feel her leg brush against mine under the table. Our glasses were empty again, as was the bottle. I couldn't remember finishing it, but that wasn't important.

"Ireland." The very sound of my country's name in her voice sent a jolt of heat through me. I leaned towards her.

"Zabini," I began, my voice low. I could see her shiver, eyes hooded. "I think you're trying to seduce me." She smirked.

"Is it working?" Her voice was lower than before, a little rough. Her hand was resting lightly on the pulse point of my wrist. I could feel the blood starting to flow between my legs. I raised my eyebrows.

"Maybe," I hedged. Holding eye contact, she leaned forward until we were both angled above the table, our faces mere inches apart.

"Do you want me to stop?" She purred. Her lips were parted slightly.

"Never," I whispered, closing the space between us. Her mouth opened to mine and I brushed my tongue against the inside of her cheek, her teeth, her tongue, the roof of her mouth, making a topographic map. A small, detached part of my brain was surprised – I had expected a Slytherin to fight for dominance a bit more.

No sooner had the thought occurred than she closed her hand tighter over my wrist and brought her other hand through my hair to the back of my head, pulling us closer. Her tongue flicked past mine, and then she pulled back slightly and – _ow!_ I could feel her smirk against my mouth as she licked the blood from my lip. I took my own hand and cupped her face, pulling her against me and forcing back into her mouth, tasting the bitter firewhiskey and the irony twang of my own blood against her tongue…

…We stumbled up the stairs, Elisabetta leaning against the wall for balance while I found an empty room at the end of the hall and dragged her in. She closed the door and cast _muffliato_ before I locked it, and then she crashed her lips back into mine and fumbled with my tie while I walked backwards until the backs of my knees hit the bed…

…Her hands were cool against my exposed chest and I yanked her school vest and shirt over her head and reached back to unhook her bra…my left hand cupped one breast while my teeth gently closed over the nipple on the other and I could hear her gasp and mutter something in Italian and I pressed harder…

…The kisses burned on my skin, her mouth was getting dangerously close to – my breath hitched, why did she still have her skirt on when I wasn't wearing pants anymore? But, her tongue, _oh god her tongue, _and she was licking the top of my prick, and then she pulled away and she was laughing and what the hell so I flipped on top of her and yanked off her skirt and watched her face as I slipped two fingers into her and she _moaned_ and grabbed me and stroked and my hips bucked forward on their own…

…"Do you have–"

"Yeah"…

…Her legs wrapped around me and brought me deeper _even deeper oh god this shouldn't be physically possible_ and her hips were moving in sync with mine and her mouth was at my throat and we were going and going _fucking brilliant Jesus_ and then she moaned and said "Seamus" and that was it and I groaned and I saw fucking stars and then she made this noise _this noise_ and clenched around me and bit down into my shoulder and shuddered until there was nothing left.


	4. Chapter 4

-Elisabetta's POV-

There was a loud rustling sound, and then my eyeballs were seared with lasers through my eyelids.

"_Dio_," I groaned, bringing my hand up over my eyes. My head was _pounding_ – it felt like Hagrid was learning how to dance inside my skull.

"Rise and shine!" I cracked an eye open and stared at my ridiculously peppy roommate. Delilah was standing by my bed, having obviously just yanked back the curtains separating me from the rest of the room. I noticed that we were the only two in the room and tried to ignore Delilah's devilish grin and the evil glint in her eye. I sighed.

"What time is it?" I croaked. _I sound like the dead_.

"8:30."

"In the morning?" Her grin widened.

"Remember that time I was up all night with Michaels from Arithmancy and you woke me up at the crack of dawn? Payback's a bitch, isn't it?" She laughed. I groaned louder and threw my hand back over my eyes. "God, you look like you're in physical pain. I think Draco Malfoy left you something to help with that. He half-dragged you in here last night, you were completely pissed." I sat bolt upright at that, but the room started to spin so I flopped back down.

…_My tongue darted into his mouth, tasting butterbeer and firewhiskey and blood from when I bit his lip before he came right back, dominant, pushy…_

…_The door opened to an empty room, I didn't remember paying for it which made me giggle, didn't think Gryffindors had it in them…_

…_Still connected at the mouth, I deftly loosened his tie and unbuttoned his shirt, sliding the material off his shoulders and down his arms. His lips were moving against mine, he was a _brilliant_ kisser, better than most of the others I'd met…_

…_He practically whimpered when I let my nails graze his balls, never thought that sound would be such a turn-on…_

…_He kept pushing deeper and deeper and thrusting and I helped him along my hands clenched on his back and there would probably be red marks there in the morning and I said his name and his hips bucked into mine and he spasmed as he came and he gripped me tighter and then my vision went completely white and I bit down hard and rode the waves of the best orgasm I had ever, _ever_ had…_

Oh, no. A face came into focus in my mind's eye: freckles, auburn hair, laughing, pouring more firewhiskey. Seamus Finnigan. _Merda_.

I glanced over to the nightstand and noticed a small vial filled with a foul-looking green potion. I sat up in bed – slowly, this time – and grabbed it. There was a small, folded-up note underneath. I unstoppered the vial and used one hand to pinch my nose shut while I dumped the hangover potion down my throat. I made a face as the viscous liquid slithered down my esophagus and set the glass back on the table, picking up the note.

_Zabini –_

_ You're going to need this in the morning. We should probably talk about last night._

_Malfoy_

I put the note back down and grinned sheepishly at Delilah.

"Malfoy always does make the best hangover potions," I said. She laughed.

"I can imagine. Now come on and get dressed! We're gonna miss breakfast!"

"I'm not going."

"Yes you are! Come on, then, I'm not letting you fall back asleep so you might as well get something in that stomach of yours." She started rummaging through my drawers, pulling out jeans and a t-shirt. Turning back to me, her eye was caught by something on the floor I couldn't see. She frowned slightly, bending down, and straightened back out holding a red sock. She raised her eyebrows towards me. I stared at it, holding back a curse as I tried to come up with a solid excuse as fast as possible.

"I haven't seen this before," she muttered, almost to herself. "Is it yours?"

"Er…I've been hiding it," I lied, silently thanking Malfoy for his fast-acting hangover remedy. "It's my mum – she always is sending me red things as gifts even though she knows I'm in Slytherin. Claims it's the colours of the Italian flag. I keep trying to tell her that red is the colour of our rival house, but she won't listen. She says," and here I made my accent much thicker and waved my arms around, "you should always remember your country!" Delilah laughed and I joined her, taking the offending sock and the other clothes she offered and surreptitiously sliding what I assumed was the other red sock off my right foot. She went over to her own bed to tuck the sheets in – Delilah was always a bit anal about the state of her bed – and I swung my legs over the side of my own bed in order to start getting dressed when my eye was caught by another flash of red. The end of a Gryffindor school tie was poking out from under the pillow. I grabbed my wand and started poking the evidence until it looked relatively green, and then started to get ready for breakfast. Apparently, I had gone to sleep in my skirt and shirt from the day before. I smelled them, wrinkling my nose. They _reeked_ of alcohol. I sighed and finished changing. That talk with Malfoy was promising to be a real bitch.

I grabbed the socks and tie that must belong to Finnigan, and followed Delilah out of the common room and into the hallway, turning towards the Great Hall. My memory of last night had some serious holes in it, and no matter how much I thought about it I couldn't fill the rest in. Malfoy's presence explained how the hell I got back into my room, but how did I get to Malfoy? What did I tell him? _Did he see the Gryffindor tie?_

-Malfoy's POV-

Crumbs of toast fell onto my plate as I bit in. With practiced ease I leaned away from the table, making sure that any bits of burnt bread did not make their way onto my shirt. The marmalade seemed better than normal, a little more tart than it had been recently. I always did like my marmalade less sweet than other people did, like Parkinson who took a bite of her toast and then made a face, setting it down and pushing the plate away. I scoffed quietly to myself. Did she not realize how pathetically obvious it was that she had been eating the exact same breakfast as me for the past week? As if eating identical breakfasts symbolized something. Sad, really. But she came from a wealthy, pure blood family and she was a great shag, so I couldn't really protest the arrangements that our parents were attempting.

The shuffling of students down the line made me look up. Blaise's sister and one of her fifth year friends had just arrived to breakfast. I was surprised that Elisabetta was even awake at this hour, let alone interested in food (although the way she picked at her plain, unadorned toast suggested that she wasn't interested in food at all). After the night she obviously had, I would have taken advantage of the lack of classes to sleep in. She looked like bloody Death warmed over, but the way she kept glaring at her friend made me think that she wasn't here from her own choosing. I couldn't complain – I felt I owed it to Blaise to make sure his sister was okay, and the sooner I talked to her the sooner I could get it off my chest and out of my mind. It was lucky that Blaise himself had walked ahead with Nott and Parkinson, because if he had seen Elisabetta…well. Let's just say the poor girl would have a lot more to worry about than a hangover.

As I watched, Zabini the younger excused herself from the table and gingerly extricated herself from the benches. Her friend watched on as she left her mostly untouched breakfast and walked towards the doors of the Great Hall. I took a final gulp of orange juice and got up from the table myself, hurriedly convincing Parkinson to finish her bloody breakfast and not follow me. Rolling my eyes, I left the Great Hall and turned in the direction of the Slytherin dungeons, following Elisabetta silently. The flick of her head told me that she knew I was there, but I continued behind her until she started to walk past an empty side corridor. I caught up to her in two strides, took hold of her arm, and dragged her in. Sighing, she finally looked at me.

"Thanks for the potion," She said by way of greeting.

"You're lucky your brother didn't see you last night," I replied. She winced.

"What happened?"

"What do you remember?" She squirmed a bit under my gaze. As she should, too. The state she was in…shirt buttoned incorrectly (she had put the third button in the first hole – the effect was comical), tie missing, hair practically disheveled.

"Not much," She said. I nodded; I had been expecting that answer. There was truth there, although I suspected she was hiding what she did remember. But that was not my problem and she could handle it herself.

"Can't say I'm surprised," I said. "You bumped into me a couple blocks away from the Three Broomsticks. God, Zabini, you were arse-over-bloody-tits and you positively reeked of firewhiskey. Thank goodness Professor Sprout's sense of smell is shot from constantly being elbow-deep in decaying plant life." She chuckled a bit at that.

"You won't…" She began, finding the cracks in the floor suddenly fascinating.

"Tell your brother? No, it's none of his business. If you want to go get well and truly pissed then that's on you."

"Thanks, Malfoy," She smiled briefly. I grinned.

"If he finds out, I am not taking the heat for this," I said, leaving her in the hallway and walking back out into the crowd of students leaving breakfast. I knew she got the message. My own personal "look out for yourself." I shook my head, clearing out thoughts from last night. Quidditch practice was in an hour and I needed to get changed.


	5. Chapter 5

-Elisabetta's POV-

After Malfoy left, I rested against the wall and leaned my head back, savoring the brief privacy. I was going to have to talk to Finnigan at some point, but I was dreading it. He was a Gryffindor – he'd probably try to be all noble and publically declare some kind of permanent relationship…I shuddered. No way was I going to let that happen. I didn't regret getting hammered (although I could have done without the hangover) and I didn't regret the sex, although I did wish that I could remember more of it. And Finnigan was attractive, and brilliant in bed, but he was a _Gryffindor_.

This went beyond the whole rival house thing – this was about character traits. Having meaningless flings with other Slytherins was fine because we were all on the same page: deceit and cunning. None of this nobility stuff. Even Ravenclaws were all right in that respect because some of them could be wonderfully rational about the whole affair and agree that a little physical activity could be a good stimulus for the mind. The only people I could imagine who would be worse than Gryffindors for one night stands were Hufflepuffs. So disgustingly _loyal_. I shuddered to think what could have happened if I found myself in bed with a Hufflepuff. I'd probably have to feed it and take it for walks and pet it lovingly…I shuddered. Horrible.

"Oi! Seamus! What are you doing up, mate? I figured you'd be out for a while longer!" Ron Weasel's voice from the main hall snapped me back to reality. I walked to the entrance of the corridor and peered out. Finnigan was standing about five meters down, turned toward some other Gryffindors. He looked positively ill _do I look that bad? God, I hope not_. I leaned against the wall, keeping my gaze locked onto the Irishman. _No time like the present_. Eventually, he turned and saw me, and we held eye contact briefly before I turned and walked back down the corridor. There was an empty classroom about halfway down, and I left the door open as I walked inside. I leaned against a table and turned, just in time to see him enter the room and shut the door behind him. We stood like that for a moment, staring at each other.

"Finnigan."

"Zabini," he said, warily.

"You look like shit." That startled a laugh out of him.

"So do you." The corner of my mouth drew up in a quick grin before I could stop myself. _Idiot, this is where you tell him to piss off. No flirting!_ He leaned back against the door to the classroom and crossed his arms. He had rolled up the sleeves of his jumper and I tried not to stare at the muscles and tendons in his arm – _strong forearms holding him above me on the cheap bed, the muscles cording and releasing with each thrust_ _GODDAMNIT Zabini get a grip!_

"So are you going to speak first? Or should I start?" He said, grinning. I pursed my lips together. I figured the best way to approach this was a combination of bluntness, honesty, and cruelty. I dug the socks and tie – now back to its original shade of Gryffindor crimson – out of my pockets and tossed them across the room, where he caught them with a startled expression.

"Whatever you think that was, last night, I can assure you it wasn't," I began, glaring. He still looked a bit shell-shocked. _Better get this over with._ "This is not where we talk about breaking boundaries between houses, or where we profess undying love to each other. Last night…we were drunk, we weren't thinking, and that's it. It was fun, but that's all it was. Fun."

Finnigan stood slack-jawed across from me, not saying a word. I held his gaze, determined to stand my ground. Finally, his expression shifted and he…he started laughing. He was bloody laughing! It didn't even make sense, and for a second I wondered if he had totally lost it.

He calmed down enough to choke out, "What the bloody hell did you think I was going to say?" I must have looked shell-shocked now, and waited for him to continue. "We've only consciously spent a couple hours in each other's company! Who the hell 'professes undying love' after something like that?"

"I…ah…you're a Gryffindor! That's what you all do, you go about trying to be the hero and be bloody noble and you don't do one night stands!" I was losing ground fast, how…? The whole thing made sense in my head, but now this guy is laughing at me! _Humiliating_ me! Where the hell does he get off?

"Seriously? Maybe you're describing Harry Potter, but come _on_. We're not stupid, romantic saps who can't have a bit of fun! You've got to give us a bit more credit than that!" I stared at him, cleared my throat.

"It, ah, made a bit more sense in my head…" I hedged. Finnigan shook his head with a smile and pushed off the wall, coming closer to me. He put his hands on my shoulders and we stood there, an arm's length apart, staring at each other.

"It was fun. It was more than that: it was brilliant. Honestly some of the best sex I've ever had." I found myself preening a bit to that. Apparently I had no shame. "Zabini. You're bloody gorgeous. And you seem to think I'm not half bad either," he said, waggling his eyebrows. I snorted. "I'll overlook the fact that you basically just insulted me, all my friends, and my entire house because you are a Slytherin and obviously all Slytherins are heartless bastards who would kill their own ma if it got them ahead in life. Honestly, I don't really want to date you anyway." In spite of myself, I pouted at him. He chuckled.

"What, you don't want this" I gestured to myself "dangling off your arm?" He cocked an eyebrow.

"You think you're the only one who would be given a hard time for seeing someone in a rival house?" I rolled my eyes, but then his hands moved from my shoulders towards my neck, his thumbs rubbing circles on my collarbone. "But that doesn't mean we can't have fun," he continued.

"Oh?" I asked, eyes hooded.

"We could have lots of fun. Besides," he paused briefly, smirking. "I would like to be able to remember the whole experience."

"Finnigan," I began. "I think you're trying to seduce me." He grinned, recognizing his words from the night before.

"Is it working?" he teased, bringing one hand up to get a fistful of hair.

"Maybe," I replied, putting a hand on his shoulder.

"Do you want me to stop?" he asked, cupping my cheek in his other hand. I smirked.

"_Never_."


End file.
